The many faces of Harrison

We went to an outdoor festival this weekend (punch that off our 'Stuff white people do' card), and Harrison was hamming it up. Since this blog is supposed to be for me when I'm old and can't remember things anymore (I give it 10- 11 years), I thought I'd share. See, me? See how cute your son was? Does this make the teenage years easier? No? Does wine make the teenage years easier? In the name of all that is holy, please let the answer still be yes.

My handsome boy. Pictures like these make my ovaries start to poke me from the inside and send bad, bad thoughts to my brain. Stupid ovaries. Hopefully they'll be gone in 10-11 years like these treasured memories. (They go away with menopause, right? I'm pretty sure it all just kind of falls out once you hit 40, look it up. So I don't have to.)